


Humiliation!Kink Meme Ficlet

by x_los



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/pseuds/x_los
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: "The Doctor humiliates the Master. I'm not talking about mentioning the time he buggered up reversing the polarity of the neutron flow and almost blew up a stolen TARDIS in their Academy days, I'm talking condescension, spanking, dirty talk, showing him off, ordering him about... all sorts of supplementary kinks welcome (though no piercing/body mod please), just as long as the Master ends up humiliated. And secretly enjoying it.</p><p>Any version of them. (Except anything involving Crispy or Goosnake, though I would lol at that)."</p><p>Rough, unbeta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humiliation!Kink Meme Ficlet

Not my kink, but for some reason the bunny bred.

 

PROMPT: "The Doctor humiliates the Master. I'm not talking about mentioning the time he buggered up reversing the polarity of the neutron flow and almost blew up a stolen TARDIS in their Academy days, I'm talking condescension, spanking, dirty talk, showing him off, ordering him about... all sorts of supplementary kinks welcome (though no piercing/body mod please), just as long as the Master ends up humiliated. And secretly enjoying it.

Any version of them. (Except anything involving Crispy or Goosnake, though I would lol at that)."

 

I went with Five/Ainley!Master--extra-odd.

***

The Doctor scrapped butter across his toast. The bread was crisp, and crackled when the knife rasped across it. Careful and deft, the Doctor encouraged a creamy pad of the stuff to melt completely, leaving no residue behind, so that the bread shone in the light. Perfect. He lifted it to his lips, and when the door opened with a bang he started and dropped it—of /course/ butter-side down—in his lap, smearing the stripes of his trousers. Rolling his eyes, the Doctor picked up the toast and threw it in the bin with a perfectly-aimed toss. He dabbed his trousers with a cloth napkin from the table, barely bothering to look up at the Master, who flipped the tails of his coat back as he took a seat across from him at the breakfast table.

The Master gave him his mad-grin-married-to-a-leer. “Good morning, Doctor.”

“It was,” the Doctor agreed pleasantly. “May I ask why you’re in my bedroom spoiling it?”

“Your TARDIS,” the Master’s grin acquired a rictus tension, “is attempting to starve me again.”

“You never can manage to find the kitchens, can you,” the Doctor sighed.

“Oh I discovered them _this_ time, Doctor. There simply wasn’t any food in them. I should have let you burn me on Sarn—it would have been a quicker death than my term of imprisonment and starvation in your comically antiquated machine is proving to be.”

“Poor Mother Hubbard,” the Doctor took another piece of toast, but when the Master reached for another off the rack, the Doctor set his down quick as lightening on his plate and _smacked_ the Master’s hand. “I’m afraid this is my breakfast, and my charity you’re living on, no matter how you choose to dismiss and disparage it. Perhaps if you _asked,_ I might share.”

The Master looked severely taken aback, then scandalized. His eyes narrowed. “If you think I’m going to _beg_ —”

“Oh I didn’t say a word about begging,” the Doctor interrupted him. “It’s quite interesting that you’ve chosen to bring it up.”

“I—”

“Perhaps that’s the problem. I’ve been too polite to you. Too _soft_. I’ve tried to give you so much space you could hardly tell you weren’t alone on my TARDIS. And you’ve been nothing but a nuisance, as desperate for my attention as ever you were when you simply attempted to present me with your sordid little schemes as presents. I might almost think of you as an unruly tomcat.”

“I’m hardly desperate for your attention,” the Master sneered, rubbing his hand theatrically.

“Really?” The Doctor plucked sugar cubes from the bowl with tongs, dropping three into his tea, one at a time. “That’s the world I’d choose. You’re hardly content to let me out of your sight. Of course it’s painfully obvious why.”

The Master gaped at the Doctor, who calmly reached for the cream jug and poured a little into his tea. Stirred with blissful nonchalance. “And what, precisely, are you suggesting?”

“Well,” the Doctor considered, lifting the teacup to his lips and taking a meditative sip, “you’re _gagging_ for it, aren’t you? If I had to guess I’d say you want me so desperately you can hardly see straight.” The Master stared at him, mutely furious, and the Doctor raised an eyebrow. “No sputtering objections?” He clucked. “Worse even than I thought. How disappointing. I might have expected a bit more of a gesture at self-respect from you.”

“Why you _insolent_ little—”

“What do you imagine when I’m, say, taking a sip of this tea?” The Doctor did so to demonstrate. “It’s my lips around your cock, isn’t it? The bob of my throat as I swallow. What would you _give_ for me to drink _you_ down? For me to enjoy it, to _need_ it, even as much as I do this simple cup of tea?”

The breath caught in the Master’s throat.

“Pathetic. No, really, it is,” the Doctor continued. “But that’s not your _favourite_ , is it? No, I just bet you don’t like that _best_. Nothing’s _quite_ as nice as imagining fucking me, is it? You can hardly _wait_ to shove your cock in me. I assume you’ve formed a rather intimate acquaintance with your right hand since you moved in here. Smothered moans in your pillow, no doubt. What _wouldn’t_ you let me do to you, if I said you could come in me when I’d finished?” Another sip of tea. “Are you hard right now?” He asked it almost with amusement. “There must be some reason you haven’t stomped off to have your second best glove again. Unless, of course, you’re waiting around to see if I’m interested.”

  
The Master glared at him, cheeks hot, eyes bright with humiliation and lust. “You’d have shut up ten minutes ago if you weren’t interested.”

The Doctor laughed. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

He paused a long moment, and the Master swallowed, eyes widening with fear that the Doctor would just end it here.

“Go lie down on the bed,” the Doctor said slowly, giving him a measuring look, as if testing whether he actually would.

Wordlessly, and not without physical difficulty, the Master stood, made his way to the bed and lay down. The Doctor raised an impressed eyebrow and went back to his tea. He took his time, buttering another piece of toast and lingering over his cup.

“Get undressed and lie back down,” he instructed, not turning his head to look at the Master, but smiling to himself as he heard the sounds of fabric sliding. “There’s a good boy. There should be something appropriate—“

“I know,” the Master interrupted him. “You’re hardly naïve enough to suppose this is the first time I’ve snooped through your nightstand. Not even _you_ could be.”

“Mm, I suppose not.” The Doctor bit into his toast with a satisfied crunch and chewed with careful slowness.

After a moment, in a rush, the Master cleared his throat and spoke. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Oh my,” the Doctor drawled, actually surprised. “You, not insisting on topping as a matter of course?” He tsked. “What IS the world coming to? ‘Master’ indeed.”

“Shut up and tell me,” the Master hissed through his teeth.

The Doctor made a show of thinking about it. “Your cock will do nicely. That’s what you want, after all, isn’t it? I think you’d better use quite a lot, don’t you?” He smiled at the low sound of the Master taking a deep breath. When he finished his tea he stood and looked at the Master, who was lying on the bed with an untroubled expression that was almost certainly a pose.

The Doctor shrugged his jacket off and laid it neatly on the back of the chair, folding his jumper and placing it on the seat. Coming over to the bed he crawled over the Master’s body, straddling him and looking him over. He paid particular attention to the Master’s cock, giving it a considering look and then touching it gingerly. He took it in one hand and gave it desultory strokes until the Master growled—almost a whine.

“Hm?” He looked up. “I’m sorry, did you want something?”

_”Doctor.”_

“Did you want me to let you shove your filthy cock inside me? Possibly to ride you ‘till I scream?”

“I—”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask. Or better yet, beg.”

The Master, seemingly afraid he’d been led on to a dead end, blushing furiously, moved to get up. The Doctor shoved him back down with a hand on his chest.

“All you have to do,” he said softly, “is ask. You’ve spent _weeks_ not asking, giving me no clue as to why you hadn’t. I’ve let you live, and live with me, on simply the strength of your word. Your promise that you’ll play nicely. I don’t believe you would, of course, unless you stood to get something more substantial than the preservation of your reputation out of such a contract. But do you think I’d take that risk if I didn’t want something more substantial myself? If I didn’t hope for something more—mutually satisfying than that?” He smoothed his hand down until it cupped the Master’s hip. “Please,” the Doctor said, both as a personal request and as a cue to an actor who’d forgotten his line.

“Please,” the Master repeated.

“Please what?” the Doctor asked, archly, a smile twitching across his lips until he was smirking at the Master. He stood and started to remove the remainder of his clothing. It was clear he was self-conscious—a blush spread across his face. But his expression was otherwise stern, and he didn’t give himself away by anything but that hot flush of blood.

“Please fuck me,” the Master tried again, genuine humility and lust dripping from his voice. “Please let me just—let me have you.”

“Shh,” the Doctor, naked himself now, sat down on the bed beside him and ran a hand through his hair, as though he were a child that needed soothing, or a beloved pet. Like anything so wanted. “It’s not just a matter of that. I want more.”

“Then take it,” the Master challenged, voice soft and intent.

“Take _you?_ ”

The Master swallowed. “Yes.”

“Good,” the Doctor smiled. “I think I will.” He bent down to kiss him, anticipating that the Master would surge up and holding him down with hands on his shoulders. He bit the Master’s lower lip, and used the Master’s resultant gasp to shove his tongue deeper into the other man’s mouth.

The Master almost didn’t notice the Doctor swinging his leg over his torso and perching over him just so, but he certainly _felt_ it when the Doctor _dropped_ down him. He was sucking in air, eyes black and dilated, clearly under-prepared for the sudden merciless stretch. The Master’s hand went to the Doctor’s back, steadying, and he gave him a look of concern. The Doctor breathed deeply for long moments, then smiled at him just slightly before straightening his back and managing to look distant again.

 _”Idiot,”_ the Master stroked the small of his back lightly. “That certainly hurt.”

The Doctor mock-pouted at him. “Did you really want to wait? Besides,” he arched an eyebrow provocatively at the Master, “maybe I like a bit of pain. If you’re terribly good, I just might let you find out how much.”

Not waiting for the Doctor’s permission, the Master pushed his hand from the Doctor’s back and down onto his ass, where he cupped the flesh and dug his fingernails in hard. The Doctor positively _squeaked_ his name and wrigged on his cock. The Master, whose eyes were already wide with the pleasurable pressure of the Doctor’s unspoilt body wrapped around him, felt he might well melt into the bed.

“None of that,” the Doctor frowned, recovering himself. He grabbed his braces from the pile of his abandoned clothing. The Master made a surprised token struggle once he realized just what was going on, but not quickly enough to escape the Doctor tying his wrists together with the elastic bands.

“Better,” the Doctor pronounced smugly. The Master growled in response, but choked on it when the Doctor rocked and then raised his hips, beginning to fuck him. “Isn’t it?”

“What?” the Master tried to focus.

“Isn’t it better?” The Master frowned suddenly, and the Doctor raised an eyebrow, but didn’t stop. “Tell me you like it or I’ll leave you tied up and manage this without your assistance. I’m perfectly serious.”

“I like it,” the Master admitted grudgingly. The Doctor rewarded him with a few faster thrusts. “Oh _god_ , I—it’s—”

“More,” the Doctor insisted, watching him closely, breathing heavily himself now, skin shining with perspiration. “You _love_ this, don’t you?”

“I—”

“You love being inside me, fucking me stupid. You feel _so good_ , Master,” he dropped his head to whisper it into the bound man’s ear. “Don’t you love me riding you?”

“Yes,” the Master hissed it through his teeth.

“Of course you do,” the Doctor practically cooed. “You greedy little slut. You’d let me use you for hours, wouldn’t you?”

“Days,” the Master agreed and corrected.

“How long have you needed to do this to me? To have me like this—almost too full of you to move?”

The Master didn’t respond, expression wary, but the Doctor continued to rock himself on his cock, almost as if he hadn’t noticed.

“I’ve needed it _centuries_ , I don’t mind telling you. There were times I thought I’d _scream,_ and you _never_ just _asked_ — ah!”

Wordlessly, the Master bucked up into him, savagely intent on repairing that omission, on making the Doctor come for him.

“Eager, aren’t you?” the Doctor taunted, matching his rhythm. “Shameless.”

“Just so,” the Master agreed, smirking when the Doctor groaned, gasped, worked his way to tight mewls and came on his cock with a quiet little flutter. He moaned when the Doctor pulled off just before he could finish himself. The Master opened his mouth to protest, and, leaning forward, the Doctor shoved his cock in.

“Clean up the mess you’ve made of me,” he snapped tiredly.

With furious eyes, the Master swallowed, pressing the Doctor’s cock to the roof of his mouth with his tongue and wringing every drop of aftershock out of his partner. When he couldn’t take any more, the Doctor wrenched himself away and sat back, almost lazily returning a hand to the Master’s hard cock. He kept the Master’s eye contact as he flicked his thumb over the tip, trailed his hand down delicately, and gripped hard, stroking with authority, making the Master come extravagantly in his hand.

When the Master had recovered his breath, he glared at the Doctor.

“Exquisite as that _was_ , you were perfectly aware I wanted to come in _you_.”

The Doctor smirked and bent to give him a light kiss on the forehead, untying and reclaiming his braces. “Consider it insurance. If you continue to do nothing more egregious than steal my toast, well, perhaps next time, hm?” The Doctor set about collecting his clothes and dressing.

“Next time,” the Master promised darkly as he sat up and rubbed his wrists, “I’m going to catch you unawares, paddle you until you _don’t_ like it, and come in you exactly as many times as it suits me.”

“Perhaps,” the Doctor agreed, standing and returning to the table, wiping his hands on the napkin and pouring himself another cup of tea. “You are rather incorrigible. But even so, you’ll certainly hold out for me to do the reverse for you.”

Embarrassed, the Master huffed out of the room with only the feeblest of rejoinders, presumably to bathe and recover his equanimity. The Doctor grinned to himself and took a victoriously crunchy bite of toast. 


End file.
